


Stiles Stilinski and the Worst Sex-Ed Class Ever

by DakenGirl



Series: Wolfish Behavior [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Nonnies Made Me Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5145929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DakenGirl/pseuds/DakenGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is pleased with his strategy for reuniting his red sunglasses-wearing one-night stand with his jealous ex. Stiles thinks his plan needs work. Neither of them expects Summers' angry boyfriend to have metal claws.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles Stilinski and the Worst Sex-Ed Class Ever

“Well, that’s not going to work,” Stiles said, talking over Derek as usual and completely missing the point.

“What I’m trying to tell you is…” Derek broke off, affronted, as he teetered on Stiles’ porch where Stiles had joined him after climbing out of the window in a way that made it clear he did that way too often. He had tried not to look at Stiles’ ass as he was climbing down, he really had. He may not have succeeded as well as he should but he had tried. “What do you mean it’s not going to work? It’s a good plan.” 

Some of his plans in the past had not exactly panned out just as he’d hoped – biting Boyd, Erica, and Isaac came to mind – but reuniting Summers with his stabby-angry clawed guy had been a Masterplan.

“You can’t just leave him in your evil lair of evil and then not be there to be all…menacing. You need to get back there and _be_ menacing him when the other guy turns up.”

Derek had that familiar sensation of his scanty patience being eroded. “The other guy who threatened to rip out my testicles and make me eat them if I touched another hair on his boyfriend’s head?”

Stiles gave him a bright little nod, already pulling on his jacket before he tugged Derek after him back towards Derek’s car. “What is the point in coming here to get the benefit of my genius if you don’t utilize it?”

It was automatic to shake off his fingers majestically on the grounds that men didn’t let themselves get tugged around by boys, except that he missed the warmth of them as soon as he’d done it. “I didn’t come here to get the benefit of your – ” 

Only he might as well save his breath because Stiles was already in the passenger seat, pointing out that Derek really ought to remember to lock his car, despite the fact that Derek was a frickin’ werewolf, and tapping his fingers on the glove compartment as he played some imaginary drum solo in his head or possibly still thought he was doing research and was so hyped up on sleep deprivation and adrenalin that he was on auto-type. This was what always happened. When he wasn’t in Stiles’ company he remembered how much he liked him and how defenseless Stiles was and how much he wanted to keep him safe, and sometimes warm and naked in his bed. When he was actually with him he remembered that he also occasionally wanted to throw him in a swamp.

The hunter’s moon was still drifting sullenly overhead, all cloud-wreathed and mysterious and Derek could still feel it tugging at his blood insistently, whispering to him that he wanted to be a beast.

“You do know it’s not really safe for skinny little high school kids to be alone with the big bad wolf on a hunter’s moon?” Derek pointed out. He leaned in so that Stiles could feel the heat of his breath and see the flash of his eyes and the subtle flex of his claws, hoping for that fear-spike-into-desire that he had managed to elicit from Summers a few times.

Stiles rolled his much too pretty eyes. “Hold me, I’m scared.” He dug around in Derek’s glove compartment until he could find a pencil to make his imaginary drumming that much more annoying.

Plucking the pencil from his fingers and tossing it out of the open window, Derek started the car. “This is a bad idea,” he said. “I want that on the record.”

“It’ll be fine,” Stiles said, looking after the pencil like it was a long lost friend. “Trust me.”

“Says the guy who thought it was a good idea to drag his best friend out into the forest in the middle of the night so they could go scampering around unarmed looking for a killer alpha werewolf.”

“That was a perfectly reasonable plan when all the evidence suggested that werewolves did not in fact exist. Logically I could not have been expected to factor in the risk factor of your freaky relatives and their revenge quests.”

They drove past the thick coil of forest with Derek feeling the moon still insistent in his blood while Stiles looked out of the window, fiddled with his radio – Derek slapped his hand – wound the window up and down a few times until Derek barked at him, and then said, “So, this is what you’re doing is it, when Scott and I are trying to get hold of you to save Beacon Hills from were-monsters – you’re hanging out in bars picking up drunk guys when they’re vulnerable and needy?”

“He wasn’t drunk,” Derek snapped. “He didn’t even know how to get drunk. He was about as good at getting drunk as you are.”

“But he was still trying to drown his sorrows because of a broken heart, right? Because his boyfriend was one of those uncommunicative alpha male assholes who can never just come out and say how they feel?”

There was an edge to Stiles’s voice that made Derek dart a glance at him but Stiles looked out of the window again, as if the trees were suddenly fascinating. 

“The guy managed to communicate pretty well with me when he was telling me how he was going to claw out my intestines and wrap them around my neck, just to remind you.”

“Well, those kind of guys all ace Threats 101, don’t they? When it comes to telling you they’re going to rip out your throat with their teeth they’re _great_ at communicating. It’s only when it’s something that matters that they suck balls.”

Derek shifted uncomfortably and scratched an imaginary itch at the back of his neck. “It’s not like Summers is Mr. Articulate. He could tell his asshole boyfriend how he feels.”

“He’s probably been slapped down and shut out too many times when he’s tried to talk about something real,” Stiles retorted swiftly. “What does this vulnerable guy you decided to pick up in a bar look like, anyway?”

Derek cast his mind back. “He’s tall, slim, but – you know – fit, and he’s pretty…bendy.” It was getting a little hot in here both because of remembering Summers’ naked body was making him think naked thoughts and because it was embarrassing cataloguing another guy’s assets in front of Stiles.

“Nothing like me, then.” That was less a question than a quiet sigh.

“Actually, he looks a lot like…” Derek swallowed the second half of that sentence frantically. If when he’d first looked at Summers he’d thought that was how Stiles was going to look in a few years it was not a good idea to admit that now.

“Like what? Is he handsome?”

Derek pretended he needed all his concentration to manage this very easy right turn into his parking bay. “He’s okay, I guess.”

“Perhaps I should start hanging out in bars, failing to get drunk.”

The growl that elicited came straight from Derek’s inner wolf. “No.”

“Sounds like you meet interesting guys that way. Angry guys with claws. Big bad werewolves.”

“Those are not the kind of guys you want to be meeting, Stiles. You want someone normal.”

“When you know the world’s full of were-monsters, normal doesn’t really cut it. My best friend’s a werewolf, Derek, my other best friend is a banshee, my ex-girlfriend’s a were-coyote –”

“Ex-girlfriend?”

“Malia and I broke up.”

Derek darted him an uncertain look. “Do you want to...” he gritted his teeth, “talk about it…?”

Stiles gazed at him open mouthed. “Wow, Derek Hale offering to have a conversation about feelings? From anyone else, Derek, I would take that as a declaration of true love.”

The silence swooped around them, dancing on the night breeze like an empty plastic bag.

Distantly, Derek could hear the roar of a super-powered motorbike being driven much too fast. “Quickly,” he said. “Claw guy is coming.”

Their scramble up to his loft lacked some of the dignity that Derek liked to bring to a proceeding of which he was a part. Stiles still gave the impression that his legs had secretly grown overnight and unbalanced him, and he seemed to flail while running which Derek hadn’t even known was possible.

“You have all the grace of a baby giraffe,” he told him shortly, and then, as Stiles looked like he’d slapped him, found himself adding, “And the eyelashes.”

Still, they burst through the doorway to find Summers sipping coffee sadly as he gazed out at the lowering moon.

“I need to tie you up,” Derek said, grabbing a kitchen chair and standing it in the middle of the loft.

Summers said, “Okay.”

“Not for sex. For menacing.”

Summers said, “Okay.”

“Not real menacing. Fake menacing. Your life scares me.”

Stiles said in a voice that had climbed up so high it seemed to want a better look, “That guy is not ‘okay, I guess’, that guy is ridiculously hot. Like supermodel hot. What the hell is the matter with your eyesight, Derek!”

Summers looked over at Stiles and said, “Is this the boy you were going to tell that you liked him?”

Derek cuffed him around the back of the head, which elicited a bit of a wince but no surprise even though Derek had dragged him across the room and lashed his hands behind his back and was in the process of tying him to a chair for what he suspected Summers still half thought was some kind of sexcapades. 

Summers was still looking at Stiles. “Is this a schoolnight for you? Because education is important and so is regular sleep.”

Derek and Stiles both said, “Shut up!” to him in unison.

“But studies have proven that – ”

“Shut up!” Stiles turned to Derek. “You should gag him for…evil verisimilitude.”

“If I’ve been sticking my dick in his mouth is it likely that I’d have gagged him, though?”

“ _Have_ you been sticking your dick in his mouth?”

Summers put in helpfully, “No. Oral sex after anal sex is very unhygienic.”

“Oh, so you went straight for the main prize then?” Stiles glowered at Derek who shifted uncomfortably under his gaze but decided to brazen it out.

“I told you I picked him up in a bar! Did you think I brought him back here to discuss the Mets’ chances in the World Series?”

“There is such a thing as frottage. You don’t have to just stick it in every strange guy you meet like a cheap…gigolo-hustler-type-thing.”

“Meaningless sex is what you have with guys you pick up in bars! It’s the whole frickin’ point!”

“Well, thank you for the life lesson. I’ll be sure to bear that in mind the next time I want some meaningless sex with a man.”

“I really don’t think you’re old enough to be drinking legally in or out of bars,” Summers said priggishly. To Derek, he added, “Why don’t you just tell him that you like him? He might want to hear it, you know.” He handed Derek back the bonds he had just used to secure him to the chair. “And you need to tie me up better than that if you’re going to convince Logan. He knows I can get out of those kind of knots.”

Stiles said, “Do I want to know how he knows that? No, I’m pretty sure I don’t.”

Summers said, “Don’t you have any handcuffs?” As if everyone had handcuffs. It was somehow more embarrassing that Derek did.

 

On the fifth attempt, they managed to lash an all-but-naked, barefoot Summers to the chair in such a way that he couldn’t wriggle his way out of it in thirty seconds flat. It had taken belts, ropes, chains, handcuffs, and those bungee cords with plastic hooks on the end that Derek had never really cared for but they had achieved some kind of…bondage thing.

Stiles contemplated their handiwork unhappily. “Now we look like really lame supervillains and your one night stand looks like a Christmas tree.”

Summers said, “I don’t mean to criticize but your knot tying could do with some more work. Tying up someone with a reef knot makes no sense and that isn’t how you tie a bowline. Or a weaver’s knot. Most of these are just granny knots with flourishes.” He flicked Stiles one of the cords they had used to tie him up dexterously with the tips of his fingers.

“Stop doing that!” Derek snapped.

While Stiles said, “Can you teach me how to do that?”

“It’s easy, it just takes perseverance, a study of the physics involved, and hours of patient practice.”

Wrinkling his nose despondently, Stiles said, “I suppose that’s how you got a body that looks like…that, too?”

“Yes,” Summers said unhelpfully. “I find five hours of workouts in the Danger Room every day inevitably leads to a mission-acceptable level of physical fitness.”

Stiles cast a glance at Derek. “You didn’t actually hold a conversation with this guy before you picked him up, did you?”

“Well…no.”

“Because with his clothes on, I don’t imagine he’s a whole lot of fun to hang out with.”

“I didn’t leave his clothes on,” Derek retorted.

“I can see that on account of how _naked_ he is.”

Derek flinched at the whiplash Stiles put into that word. “Well, how else was I supposed to have sex with him?” he muttered.

“You could try having sex with someone you actually know – you know, like normal people do who aren’t complete _manwhores_.”

Summers absent-mindedly unpicked one of the knots Derek had been particularly proud of. “Is this going to take long because I’m getting cold?”

“It’s going to take however long it takes – and do that knot back up!”

Sighing, Summers did so, somehow managing to tie a better knot than any of the ones they had even while cuffed, chained, belted, roped, and bungee-corded to a chair. Testing it carefully, he said, “You see, if you had used nylon rope or fishing line, these knots would be a lot more difficult to undo.”

“I’m going to punch you in a minute,” Derek told him.

“Well, that afterglow didn’t last very long, did it?” Stiles observed waspishly.

Derek clasped a hand across his mouth – not without torture would Stiles have admitted that he found it hot when Derek did that – abruptly seized Stiles and hauled him into the kitchen, then shoved him down behind the counter. To Summers, he hissed, “Look menaced!”

Stiles could hear the thunder of footsteps on the stairway himself now and whispered, “You need to be out there threatening him.”

Derek tightened the grip on his mouth and breathed, “I want to see how this claw guy treats him when there aren’t any witnesses. If he’s as much of a shit as he sounds like, I’m not letting him keep Summers.”

Stiles might have argued the point, and how Derek was totally failing to stick with his plan, and how he really, really, really didn’t approve of Derek keeping Summers as his very own special rescued pet-come sex slave, but he was too busy gaping in disbelief as long metal claws sliced through the door of Derek’s loft, before ripping the whole door off its hinges and hurling it somewhere out of sight. The clawed guy leaped into the room, brandishing the metal talons that protruded from his knuckles and snarling like a caged animal. Stiles had to swallow hard as he realized he was not only quite scared now, he was also very grateful to have Derek’s bare-chested, toned werewolf body between him and that hairy guy out there. He also thought that even allowing for taste if Summers really thought that guy was hotter than Derek then he should be not just wearing sunglasses but carrying a white stick.

“Scott…?”

The catch in the clawed guy’s voice did something to Stiles’ rapidly beating heart. As did the way the guy leaped across the room to crouch down by the chair they had tied Summers to. Luckily, the clawed guy cut through the bonds with his scary frickin’ knuckle-talons much too fast to notice that they were more draped around Summers than actually tying him up, then the claws slipped back in with a weird SNIKT noise and claw guy was tilting up Summers’ head to anxiously examine his face.

“Scott – are you okay? What did that evil bastard do to you?” The way his thumb stroked Summers’ chiselled cheekbone hurt Stiles’ heart even more.

“I’m fine, Logan. He didn’t do anything to me.” Even not being able to see Summers’ eyes, Stiles could read yearning body language. That was exactly how he tried not to look around Derek.

Clawed guy, who was no longer clawed, but just hairy and unkempt and wearing biker leathers, stroked Summers’ hair back from his face and then sniffed him, hands running over his body to check for breakages and bruises. He found more than a few bruises and as Stiles looked at Derek accusingly, Derek winced apologetically and mouthed: _Heat of the moment_ , at him. Stiles tried not to find that hot.

Clawed guy clearly found it far from hot, as he swept Summers out of his party wrapping of severed chains, cuffs, ropes, and bungee cords and carried him over to the bed, still sniffing him, anxious and angry.

“What the hell were you thinking – going home with a werewolf, Scott?”

“I’m not sure he even is a werewolf. He didn’t seem very…werewolfy to me.”

Beside him, Stiles was torn between compassion and the urge to giggle as Derek glowered in indignation.

“I can smell that he’s a damn werewolf!”

“Really?” Summers seemed unconcerned. “He was very gentlemanly for a were-creature.”

Derek went from glowering to preening, darting a look at Stiles to see if he had heard the ‘gentlemanly’ thing. Stiles had, and was intrigued, he was also – it was time he admitted it to himself – jealous.

“I can smell what he did to you, too, and how many times he did it.” Sniffing Summers in a way more like a large dog than a human being, the clawed guy didn’t seem to agree on the ‘gentlemanly’ thing, snuffling angrily over bruises which he touched with surprisingly gentle fingers. “You’re letting strange guys take you home with them and fuck you now? What the hell is that about?”

“What do you care, Logan?” Summers said quietly. “You said we were over.”

“I say a lot of things when I’m angry. You know that.”

“I still think it’s not unreasonable to expect a guy born in 1882 to have achieved enough maturity to know his own mind. Or am I just supposed to assume you don’t mean anything you say every time you stomp off in a snit after we have a disagreement?”

Stiles looked at Derek and stabbed an accusing finger. “You hear that? 1882! And Summers can’t be more than twenty-eight at the oldest. That means those two have an age difference of more than a hundred years but you don’t see them letting that get in the way of acting on their feelings!” 

They had missed some of the disagreement but the clawed guy had now rallied on the defensive with: “That doesn’t explain why you’re suddenly taking crazy risks.”

“What risks? I could have blasted him out of the building just by taking my glasses off.”

Derek and Stiles exchanged a bewildered look and Stiles felt a sudden rush of protectiveness. “You see how dangerous that is – picking up random guys in bars?” he whispered fiercely.

“If he’d bitten you, you’d be a werewolf now.” Clawed guy flipped Summers over onto his side and examined his back anxiously. “Look at these bruises!”

“I’m not an owl, Logan. It’s not actually possible for me to look at my own spine. Anyway, I probably did that in the Danger Room.”

“Well, what the hell setting did you have it on?”

“I’m so glad you broke the speed limit just to harangue me about safety protocols. I would have hated to go another day without that.”

Snarling, claw guy grabbed Summers by the upper arms and dragged him up. Derek started up and Stiles had to grab his arm to hold him back. “Wait…” he breathed.

Holding Summers so his face was an inch away from his, clawed guy growled, “I want to shake you right now, Slim.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Clawed guy yanked him in for a hungry kiss, then let go of his arms to fold one massively muscled arm around his shoulders and the other to cradle his head as he kissed him some more. Summers subsided gracefully onto the bed, kissing clawed guy back with no less hunger, pulling him down after him as he wrapped his endless legs encouragingly around the guy’s ass.

“I need to kill that werewolf,” clawed guy growled.

“You really don’t…” Summers kissed him, lips brushing teasingly over the clawed guy’s in a way that made heat coil in Stiles’ belly. He wondered if Derek had kissed Summers like that. There was still some moonlight streaming through the window and Summers looked like a Greek statue, one of those perfect youths the gods were always abducting. He just bet Summers never tripped over his own feet. He bet Summers would have been first pick for the lacrosse team. He bet Summers didn’t know how it felt to have seven different thoughts always whirling in his brain, research lures calling to him like scent-trails to a tail-wagging dog. He bet Summers hadn’t killed his own mother.

He could tell by the way Summers was running his fingers through the clawed guy’s crazy bed hair that he loved him way too much, and by the way he was kissing him so gently, and breathing in his scent – which had smelled to Stiles as the guy stormed past mostly of sweat, cigar-smoke, and engine oil – like it was violets, that Summers had it really badly. These angry wolfish guys and their tragic backstories could do that somehow. They played the big bad loner card, prowling around, barking and snarling, pretending they didn’t need anyone or anything, and then they let you see their emotional damage or their hidden gentle side and it was like another stab to the heart. It wasn’t fair, it so wasn’t fair.

The clawed guy was kissing Summers angrily and hungrily and possessively, furious about the Derek scents and sex scents all over him and the bed. He was scowling horribly and emitting a deep, chesty under-mutter of disapproval while his fingers kept Summers clasped to him and he punished his mouth with lips and tongue, but the fingers in his hair were tender.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Slim? You could have been killed.”

“I was never in danger.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about men or bars.”

“How can I not know anything about men? I am a man.”

Clawed guy rolled his eyes. “What difference does that make? You don’t know how normal guys function and you never have. And you sure as hell don’t know how dangerous men with animals inside them work either.”

“I know you.” Another coaxing kiss from Summers, who didn’t seem to mind how brutal clawed guy was pretending to be with him. Stiles guessed if he could see straight through that show of possessive anger to the tenderness underneath then Summers certainly could as well.

“You don’t know me!” Clawed guy pulled back and prowled angrily. “I’m not the guy you think I am – at least I’m not just that guy.”

Propped up on one elbow on the tumbled bed, ridiculously long bare legs outstretched and equally ridiculously perfect torso flexing, Summers said, “What guy, Logan?”

“The worst version of myself. The one you let me be with you.” Clawed guy spun around and for a guy with a sense of hidden weight behind his impressive muscles he was surprisingly agile. “I don’t want to be the guy who calls you names and punches you, Scott. I don’t want to be the guy who tells you he’d rather be fucking your dead wife just to put that look on your face. But I feel like that’s the only guy you’re interested in – someone who’ll keep you at a distance, just the way you like it.”

Summers sighed. “Is this about my communication skills?”

“Your communication skills suck, Slim!”

“I only know how to date telepaths.”

Glowering, clawed guy said, “So, you can date celestial firebirds and goblin queens and dominatrices who crack their whips all over you and every kind of crazy woman who happens by just as long as she can get into your head and save you having to use your words, is that it?”

Summers said, “I’m not the only mutant in this room to date a villain.”

“But you’re the only one to like it when they tie you up and whip you!” Prowling around some more, the clawed guy said plaintively, “I don’t know how to deal with being the least dangerous person you’ve ever dated.”

Thinking of the clawed apart door, Stiles gaped at Derek who gaped right back.

“You’re the only Logan I’ve dated. Won’t that do?”

Clawed guy wheeled back around and prowled back to the bed. “You drive me nuts,” he muttered.

“Like you don’t drive me nuts?”

“What the hell were you doing having dinner with Emma and Namor when you and I were dating?”

Summers’ sunglasses wearing face mirrored confusion. “Was that what you were angry about? You don’t like me eating sushi now?”

“I thought you were having a threesome!”

Even Stiles could tell that Summers was both shocked and intrigued by that idea. “What? Wait! Is that what you thought I was doing when I had dinner with Warren and Henry?”

“Yes.”

“And when I was having lunch with Magneto and Mystique to discuss Madripoor?”

“Yes!”

“And that working breakfast with Iron Man and Captain America?”

“It wasn’t?”

“Logan, when do you think I actually eat? And do I even want to know what you thought I was doing with Gambit and Jamie and his dupes?”

Clawed guy adjusted his collar awkwardly. “Probably not.”

“You really need to watch less porn and read more books.”

“You let some random evil werewolf pick you up in a bar, Slim! Let’s not pretend your dating choices don’t need work. What about Madelyne? What about the Phoenix? What about Emma Frost, White Queen of the frickin’ Hellfire Club? And don’t tell me Namor isn’t into you, because that ‘boy-king’ line he has going with you is definitely a come-on.”

“You think everything everyone says to me is a come-on, Logan.”

“With you everything usually is!”

Sighing, Summers said, “So, it’s all me and my poor dating choices? None of it is you and your irrational alpha male craziness?”

Clawed guy unexpectedly pounced onto the bed and pinned Summers down. “I’m jealous and possessive and you knew that going in. I don’t like other men touching you. I hate it when you smell of them instead of me.”

“Get therapy,” Summers suggested. “Or else make sure that I always smell of you.” He licked his lips and Stiles made a mental note of exactly the way he did that as that throbbing growl came from the clawed guy’s chest.

Clawed guy sniffed him, still angrily, clearly hating the Derek scents all over him and making Stiles intrigued about what that might smell like. He leaned in and sniffed Derek surreptitiously. He smelt earthy and…wolfish with an undertone like ambergris. It was musky and compelling and it was making him want to lick something. He sniffed again and became aware of Derek keeping very still beside him.

“What?” Stiles whispered.

“Stop sniffing me.” He sounded strained and irritable.

“Why?”

“Because.”

Stiles looked down and saw that Derek was bulging under the sweatpants he had pulled on so carelessly after banging that sunglasses-wearing supermodel currently lying so invitingly on his bed. Licking his lips automatically, Stiles found he couldn’t look anywhere else. Derek grabbed him roughly by the hair and there was a glorious moment when Stiles thought that Derek was going to go all alpha-male-to-the-max on him and shove his head roughly down and order him to start sucking. Because if Derek did that, for once in his life he was totally going to do what he was told. But to his disappointment, Derek hauled his head up and said tersely, “Stop it. Stop sniffing. Stop looking. Stop smelling like that.”

“I can’t help the way I smell,” Stiles whispered back. “It’s not like you gave me time to have a shower.” Then he gasped as Derek plunged his face into his neck and breathed him in greedily, like Stiles was the best drug ever and all you had to do was inhale him to stay high forever.

The creaking of the bed made them both look around. Stiles had looked up gay porn on the internet, of course, and imagined the logistics of it. He had imagined it with Derek pretty thoroughly as he wrapped a hand around his own cock and stroked himself as he choked down the moans and the misery because that was never happening. Seeing it for real wasn’t the same as pictures and movies on the internet, not when it was smelling and sounding so different and so real. The angry clawed guy who had ripped that door off its hinges was kissing Summers much more tenderly than Stiles had imagined possible, and Summers had long, elegant fingers in the guy’s unruly hair as he kissed him back. They were rolling around on the bed. Summers’ body looked lean and toned beside the hairy bulk of the guy with claws but somehow they seemed to fit together so effortlessly. The clawed guy had massive arms and thighs with those dark hairs everywhere, the animal in him so close to the surface even like this, even when he was being tender and relatively tame. Stiles could see how heavy he was by the way Derek’s bed dipped and creaked under his weight but Summers never flinched as that dense bulk straddled him, those thighs that were twice the thickness of his, those huge shoulders, and that sprinkling of hair everywhere. No wonder Summers hadn’t thought Derek was a werewolf. He dated a guy who was way closer to an animal than Derek was.

The clawed guy said, “Scott – can we talk?”

It was weird hearing another guy being called ‘Scott’ when ‘Scott’ as far as Stiles was concerned could only be his best friend, but Summers said resignedly, “Must we, Logan?”

“Look, I’m not making excuses for myself, but the reason why everyone you date ends up crazed with jealousy and looking to eat a sun is because you never talk to us about anything except mission strategy.”

Summers looked perplexed. “I like you. I would rather date you than anyone else. I wasn’t dating anyone else while I thought we were dating until you told me we were over. How much more do you need to know?”

“You’re not being Emma’s booty call on a Friday night or Namor’s bit on the side or reliving the old X-Factor days with Angel and Beast?”

“No. Are you still seeing Storm?”

“No. What about you and Magneto?”

Summers frowned. “What about me and Magneto?”

“You and Magneto have a weird relationship.”

“Everyone says you and I have a weird relationship.”

“Given all the sex you and I have had over the years that isn’t making me feel better about whatever it is you and Erik have going on, Slim.”

“Logan, Henry and I have a weird relationship. Brand and I have a weird relationship. Steve Rogers and I have a weird relationship. Sinister and I have a weird relationship. Most of my relationships are weird. Very few of those weird relationships currently involve sex. If you want us to be exclusive just say so – don’t play twenty questions and then bitch about my poor communication skills.”

Muttering in a maddening alpha male manner, clawed guy said, “I want us to be exclusive.”

“Agreed – can we stop talking and have sex now?”

The clawed guy sniffed the air suspiciously. “How come that werewolf’s scent is just as strong as when I walked in here?”

“Because we’re rolling around on his bed? Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“No!” There was a flash of something deeply petty in the clawed guy’s eyes. “I want him to smell us all over his sheets.”

Summers murmured, “Homo sapiens superior, indeed.”

Stiles couldn’t help looking – he didn’t think anyone, under the circumstances could blame him for looking. That hairy guy was so much heavier and stronger than Summers was – way more of a physical disparity than there was between him and Derek. Way more of an age gap than between him and Derek. Way less compatibility than between him and Derek. Yet those two were making it work. Damn, were those two making it work.

Dry-throated, Stiles watched as the same clawed guy who had ripped his way through a door kissed his way down Summers’ chest to tongue his nipples tenderly. There was a lot of kissing and nibbling and biting and moaning and gasping and arching and rolling, and strong arms bracing and long legs wrapping and then the clawed guy was in Summers’, just like that, even though his cock was scary-sized and Summers looked so proper, and it didn’t seem to hurt at all. Summers just let out a sharp breath and then pulled the clawed guy in to kiss him harder. The thrusting looked a lot less clinical than in the porn he’d seen, louder and much more untidy, the breathing harsh with groans breaking through. They fucked face to face, which Stiles hadn’t actually known was an option until that moment, and then the clawed guy pulled out and Summers flipped over onto his knees and hung onto the head of the bed and the clawed guy fucked him again, once again sliding that great big cock of his into the guy without it seeming to hurt Summers at all, whereas Stiles had been all psyched up for pain. 

Then the clawed guy started doing something sneaky with his cock that made Summers emit shuddering moans until he was completely lost in the moment and barely hanging in there. It didn’t look like pain or pleasure, more like some weird transcendental place exactly midway between, Summers white-knuckling on the bed head as his moans got more and more soft and pleading and clawed guy kissed his shoulders and down his spine and around the curve of his ribs with unexpected tenderness while doing those torturing nudges with his cock that were making Summers shudder with what Stiles could see was a coming orgasm, deeper and higher and more prolonged than anything his right hand had ever given him.

Summers was trying to choke down his own moans of pleasure and clawed guy was breathing hotly in his ear telling him to say it, say his name.

“Oh God, Logan…”

To Derek, Stiles breathed urgently, “What is he doing to make him…do that?”

“Prostate massage,” Derek ground out.

“What? How? Show me?”

On any other day Stiles just knew that there would have been nothing doing but Derek was so fogged up with alpha-male-competitive jealousy hormones because of clawed guy fucking his one night stand all over Derek’s bed that before Stiles had time to catch his breath, Derek had licked one finger decisively and shoved it down the back of Stiles’ shorts. A rough hand on his hair and he was somehow bent over Derek’s lap, wondering if Derek was into kinky spanking – and wondering if Stiles was into kinky spanking too – and then the wet finger was burrowing into him and he was gasping and trying to wriggle onto it. It was probably a little embarrassing how quickly his body relaxed to let that finger slip into him, but before he had time to blush about that, Derek was rubbing something inside him that felt unbelievably good.

“Ohmygodwhatdidyoujustdo?”

Derek clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling any other questions he had while on the bed Summers was emitting shuddering moans and gasping cries of the clawed guy’s name as his orgasm was stretching out agonizingly and apparently very satisfactorily indeed.

Derek was too horny to show a lot of finesse and Stiles was so overstimulated and scared of both the clawed guy and the fact that he had just let Derek shove a digit up his ass that it took only a few rough hard rubs and he could feel unexpected pleasure arrowing into unexpected places. He arched then coiled over and stifled his moans into the hot, damp welcome of Derek’s sweatpants.

There was an erect cock right there, beneath the cotton mix, and it was impossible not to mouth at it. Derek made a strangled sort of moan and dragged his head up roughly by the hair, clamping Stiles’ mouth onto his nipple as if he were a baby in need of pacifying.

Even though he was so not into this kind of childish demeaning role-playing crapsackery, Stiles found himself breathing, “I’ve been so, so bad, Derek, and I need you to punish me. With your cock. On that bed.” That elicited another strangled sound from Derek which was luckily drowned out by the sound of the clawed guy coming like a steam engine. 

There was a breathless panting pause on the bed and then the clawed guy pulled out, ribboning semen all over the bed, pulled Summers to him jealously, and mumbled in between mouthing and kissing him: “I hate the way this place smells. I hate fucking werewolves and I hate you fucking werewolves. We’re going back to San Francisco.”

“Or a motel,” Summers said, who seemed to be able to maintain grace under pressure or even under being naked and post-orgasmic and having a clawed maniac nibbling ferociously at his throat in post-sex foreplay. “There are motels closer than San Francisco is to Beacon Hills.”

“Motels are good.” The clawed guy reluctantly stopped kissing, nibbling, licking, and biting Summers for long enough to pull his clothes back on raggedly while Summers dressed far more elegantly, long limbs languorous, expression dreamy, strangely composed for someone who had just been fucked all over that bed by two different super-strong guys. Clawed guy pulled him to his feet and then kissed him, passionately, fingers furrowing through his hair, growling, “You’re mine, Summers. You get that? You’re mine.”

Sighing, Summers said, “Logan, are you ever going to evolve?”

Clawed guy said, “No!” in a way that seemed entirely unrepentant, and tugged Summers decisively towards the doorway by his t-shirt. Summers gave them a brief wave in their hiding place behind the counter as he was dragged off by his insanely possessive boyfriend but then there was nothing to do but listen to the sound of Summers being towed down the stairs and out of the building and then that motorbike roaring the two of those assuredly star-crossed lovers off into the night.

“Man, alpha males are dicks,” Stiles said. “Except for my Scott. He may be an alpha but he’s not a dick.”

“But I am?” Derek demanded.

Stiles cast a sideways glance at him. “I didn’t say it was necessarily a bad thing….”

Derek growled, and that growl did things to Stiles it had no damn right doing, making him shiver with something that was a little bit like fear and a lot like entirely pleasurable anticipation. 

“On the bed, Stiles. Now.”

Stiles thought about arguing the point and saying that if Derek thought he was ever going to turn into Summers, the obliging mutant sexbot, he could think again but then decided that arguing against something he desperately wanted to do was just dumb. His scramble for the bed lacked a certain amount of dignity and grace, but it was fast and efficient, as was the way he pulled off his clothes in double quick time.

The air was still hazy with animalistic clawed guy pheromones and he knew they were his best friend right now, driving Derek’s alpha male competitive asshole side just as effectively as they had worked for Summers’ boyfriend. He thought sticking his ass in the air lacked subtlety but he had no compunction whatsoever about lying on his back with his legs open.

Gritting his teeth, Derek said, “I need to shower.”

Stiles licked his lips. “Yes, you probably do.”

“I need to know you’re still going to be here when I get out of the shower.”

Stiles didn’t want Derek getting cold feet any more than Derek wanted him to bolt for home. He put his head on one side in a way that he hoped was sexy and beguiling and not too ‘puppy wanting to be taken for a walk’ and essayed: “Maybe I should help you shower? For…reasons.”

That was lame but his erection was leaving him so little blood in his brain right now that he thought Derek was lucky he was even speaking in something approaching full sentences. Instead of mocking his inability to present a reasoned argument, Derek abruptly grabbed his hand, pulled him off the bed and dragged him towards the shower with no more finesse than clawed guy had shown in dragging Summers about because apparently his Scott was indeed the exception when it came to alpha males and the rest of them were basically cavemen. 

Swallowing hard, Derek managed, “Good thinking, Stiles. There are always those hard to reach places.”

“Maybe you could help me with my…hard to reach places?” Stiles suggested daringly.

Then they were in the shower together with the door slammed shut and the water running hot and everything was steamy and soap-slicked and breathless and bruising and tender and above all incredibly _educational_ in the way it revealed to Stiles just exactly why Summers had been making those noises and how it must have felt for him when he was. And that was important, because, after all, it was a school night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Boom-Boom for suggesting a sequel and to ELG for nagging me to make Wolvie nicer and giving him and Cyke a happy ending.


End file.
